Chapter TWELVE
THE duty MP usually brought Steiner a cup of tea at eleven each morning. He was five minutes late and found the German by the window reading.
'There you go, Colonel.'
'Thank you, Corporal.'
'I suppose you'd prefer coffee, sir?' the corporal said, lingering, for he rather liked Steiner.
'But I was raised on tea, Corporal,' Steiner told him. 'I went to school right here in London. St Paul's.'
*Is that a fact, sir?'
He turned to the door and Steiner said, 'Is Lieutenant Benson back yet?'
'His leave is up at midnight, sir, but if I know him he'll look in this evening. You know what these young officers are like. Dead keen. Looking for that second pip on his shoulders.'
He left, the bolt rammed home and Steiner went back to his seat by the window, waiting for noon as he had on the previous day, drinking his tea and trying to compose himself to patience.
It was raining again and there was fog in the city, so heavy already that he could barely see the other side of the river. A very large cargo boat eased down from London Docks followed by a line of barges. He watched for a while, wondering where it was going and then he saw the girl, just as Devlin had described: black beret and shabby raincoat.
Mary limped along the pavement, collar up, hands thrust deep into her pockets. She stopped at the entrance leading down to the strand and leaned on the wall, watching the boats on the river. She didn't look up at the Priory at all. Devlin had been most explicit about that. She just stayed there, watching for ten minutes, then turned and walked away.
Steiner was aware of intense excitement and gripped the bars at his window to steady himself. The door opened behind him and the corporal reappeared.
'If you're finished, Colonel, I'll take your tray.'
'Yes, I am, thank you.' The MP picked up the tray and turned to the door. 'Oh, I don't know who's on duty this evening, but I'll be going down to confession,' Steiner said.
'Right, sir. I'll make a note of it. Eight o'clock as usual.'
He went out and locked the door. Steiner listened to the sound of his boots receding along the corridor then turned, gripping the bars again.
'Now we pray, Mr Devlin,' he said softly. 'Now we pray.'
When Devlin went into St Patrick's he was in his military trenchcoat and uniform. He wasn't really sure why he had come. Conscience again, he supposed, or perhaps just tying up loose ends. He only knew he couldn't leave without a word with the old priest. He'd used him, he knew that, and it didn't sit well. What was worse was the fact that they would meet again and for the last time in the chapel at St Mary's that evening. No avoiding that or the distress it would cause.
The church was quiet, only Frank Martin down at the altar arranging a few flowers. He turned at the sound of Devlin's approach and there was genuine pleasure on his face. 'Hello, Father.'
Devlin managed a smile. 'I just dropped in to tell you I'm on my way. I got my orders this morning.'
That's unexpected, isn't it?'
'Yes, well, they're easing me back in.' Devlin lied in his teeth. 'I'm to report to a military hospital in Portsmouth.'
'Ah, well, as they say, there's a war on.'
Devlin nodded. 'The war, the war, the bloody war, Father. It's gone on too long and we all of us have to do things we normally would never do. Every soldier, whichever side he's on. Things to shame us.'
The old man said gently, 'You're troubled, my son. Can I help in any way?'
'No, Father, not this time. Some things we have to live with ourselves.' Devlin put out his hand and the old priest took it. 'It's been a genuine pleasure, Father.'
'And for me,' Frank Martin said.
Devlin turned and walked away, the door banged. The old priest stood there for a moment, puzzlement on his face and then he turned and went back to his flowers.
There was the merest hint of fog at Chernay, too, at four o'clock when Schellenberg went in search of Asa. He found him in the hangar with the Lysander and Flight Sergeant Leber.
'How is it?' Schellenberg asked.
'Perfection, General,' Leber told him. 'Couldn't be better.' He smiled. 'Naturally, the HauptsturmFuhrer has just been checking everything out for the fifth time, but that's understandable.'
The Lysander had RAF roundels in place on canvas strips as Asa had requested and the swastika on the tailplane had been blocked out with black canvas.
'Of course there's no absolute guarantee that they won't come off in flight,' Asa said. 'We'll just have to keep our fingers crossed.'
'And the weather?' Schellenberg asked.
Leber said, 'It's uncertain. Visibility could be restricted. There are a couple of conflicting fronts moving in. I've checked with our base at Cherbourg and the truth is it's one of those times when they don't really know.'
'But the plane is ready?'
'Oh, yes,' Asa told him. 'One good thing about this beauty is that she's fitted with an emergency fuel tank. I suppose the RAF had that done because of the kind of operation it was employed on. I'm allowing an hour and a half for the flight and thanks to Luftwaffe intelligence at Cherbourg, I can tune my radio to the RAF frequency as I approach the English coast.'
'Good. Let's go for a walk. I feel like the air.'
It was raining only slightly as they walked along the airfield and Schellenberg smoked a cigarette, not speaking for a while. They reached the end and leaned on a fence, looking out to sea.
Schellenberg said, 'You feel all right about this?'
'The trip?' Asa shrugged. 'The flight itself doesn't worry me. It's the situation at the other end that's problematical.'
'Yes, we are all in Mr Devlin's hands there.'
Asa said, 'Assuming everything goes well and I put down here with our friends some time early tomorrow morning what happens then? What about the Belle Ile situation? Have you any ideas?'
'Only one and it would be a desperate venture. On the other hand, simple, and I like simplicity. It pleases me.'
'I'm all ears.'
'Well, the Fuhrer will be having breakfast with Rommel, the Admiral and the Reichsfuhrer. Berger will strike at the end of the meal.'
'Yes, I know that, I was there, remember?'
'What if you and I and Mr Devlin arrived to join them for breakfast and exposed the plot?'
'But we'd go down the hole too, that's obvious,' Asa said. 'Even if you said your piece to the Fuhrer, Berger and his chums would just get on with it.'
'Oh, yes, and it would suit the Reichsfuhrer to have me out of the war.' Schellenberg smiled. 'There is a wild card I haven't mentioned. Remember when we were driving to Belle Ile? The izth Parachute Detachment outside St Aubin? Hauptmann Erich Kramer and thirty-five paratroopers?'
'Sure I do.'
'What do you think would happen if Colonel Kurt Steiner, the living legend of the Parachute Regiment, appeared and told them he needed their services because there was an SS plot to kill the Fuhrer ten miles up the road?'
'Jesus!' Asa said. 'Those guys would follow Steiner anywhere.'
'Exactly. And the Fallschirmjager have always been notorious for their dislike of the SS.'
'It could work,' Asa said.
'If everything else did,'
'Let me get this straight. We'd go in first? Steiner would follow on?'
'Yes, let's say fifteen minutes later.'
Asa said, 'That could be one hell of a breakfast.'
'Yes, well, I prefer not to think of it right now,' Schellenberg said. 'I've got other things on my mind. Let's go and have a cup of coffee.'
In Ryan's kitchen, Devlin had various items laid out on the table. 'Let's see what I've got here,' he said. 'Those MPs carry handcuffs, but I'll take a little extra twine for emergencies, just in case.'
'I've made up three gags,' Ryan said. 'Bandages and sticking plaster. You've the priest too, remember.'
'I'd prefer to forget him, but there you are,' Devlin said.
'And a weapon?'
'I'll take the Smith & Wesson on the ankle holster for emergencies and that Walther with the silencer I got from Carver.'
'Would you anticipate any killing?' Ryan asked and looked troubled.
'The last thing I want. Have you got that sap of yours?'
'God, I was forgetting.'
Ryan opened the kitchen table drawer and produced the leather sap. It was loaded with lead and there was a loop for the wrist. It was a thing carried by many London taxi drivers for self-protection. Devlin weighed it in his hand and put it down beside the Walther.
'That's everything then?' Ryan said.
Devlin smiled lightly. 'All we need is Steiner now.'
The door opened and Mary came in. Her uncle said, 'God, I'm starving, girl. Bacon and eggs all round if you can manage it.'
'No problem,' she said, 'but we're out of bread and tea. I'll just run along to the High Street before the shop closes. I shan't be long,' and she took her beret and raincoat down from behind the door and went out.
The old lady at the shop managed her a tin of black-market salmon and some cigarettes as well as the bread and tea, and Mary was carrying them in a carrier bag when she left. The fog was rolling in, the traffic slow and she stopped cautiously on the next corner before crossing the road.
Eric Carver, at the wheel of his brother's Humber limousine, had stopped at the traffic lights. She was only a yard or two away as she passed, and he saw her clearly. She crossed the road and turned into a side street. As the lights changed, he went after her, pulled the Humber in at the kerb, got out and followed cautiously.
Mary turned into Cable Wharf, walking as quickly as she could and crossed to the house. As she went round the corner, Eric hurried across and peered round cautiously. She had just reached the kitchen door.
It opened and he heard Devlin say, 'Ah, there you are, girl. Will you come in out of that?'
The door closed. Eric said softly, 'Right, you bastard. I've got you,' and he turned and hurried away.
Jack Carver was in his bedroom dressing when Eric burst in. Carver said, 'How often have I told you, Eric? I don't like anyone coming in here when I'm dressing and that includes you.'
'But I've found him, Jack. I've found where that rotten little bastard's shacked up. I saw the girl. I followed her home and he was there.'
'You're sure?'
'Of course I bloody am.'
'Where was this?'
'A place called Cable Wharf. It's in Wapping.'
'Right.' Carver nodded in satisfaction, put on his jacket and went through to the sitting room, Eric following.
'So, what are we going to do?' Eric demanded as his brother sat behind his desk.
'Do? We're going to sort him,' Carver said.
'When?'
Carver checked his watch. 'I've got a big game on tonight, you know that. Probably finish around ten. We'll pay him a call after that when he thinks he's nicely tucked up for the night.' Carver smiled, opened a drawer and took out a Browning. 'Just you and me and our friend here.'
There was an unholy look on Eric's face. 'Christ, Jack, I can't wait,' he said.
Lieutenant Benson arrived at the Priory just before seven. He said hello to the porter who admitted him and went straight upstairs. Strictly speaking, as the MP had told Steiner that morning, his leave wasn't up until midnight, but the only available train to London from his parents' home in Norwich had been an early one. When he was admitted to the corridor in the upper floor he found a corporal sitting in his office who jumped to his feet at once.
'You're back, sir.'
'I should have thought that was obvious, Smith. Where's Sergeant Morgan?'
'Went off about an hour ago, sir.'
'Everything calm while I've been away?'
'I think so, sir.'
'Let's have a look at the log.' Smith handed it over and Benson leafed through it. 'What's this entry here on the admittance sheet? Major Conlon?'
'Oh, yes, sir, the padre. He did a tour of the place with the Sister and Father Martin.'
'Who gave him permission?'
'He had a War Office pass, sir. You know, those unrestricted access things. I think you'll find Sergeant Morgan put the details down.'
'I can see that. The point is, what was Conlon doing here?'
'Search me, sir. Nice-looking man. Grey hair, glasses. Looked like he'd had a hard time. Oh and he had an MC, sir.'
